Shared vexations are merry things!
Merry they are,
Merry they are,
It's jolly to suffer, jolly to stew,
And you feel you're one of the happy few.
Some delectations are out of view
To the peasant repertoire
Of low sensation,
But shared vexation––
That's merrier far!
Now you may have a sensitive bottom
(Some folks've got 'em),
It's not a real fuss––
But it can be a bit of a battle
When all the roads rattle
The seat of the bus!
Or, if you're an early-day planner who's likely to panic
When things are unplanned,
The rattle will render a little too manic your planner
That's written by hand.
Shared vexations are merry things!
Merry they are,
Merry they are,
It's jolly to panic, jolly to fuss,
And there's plenty of that when you're on the bus!
You know you'll never be upper-crust
If you're dispossessed of a car,
So suck it up with the rest of us.
That's merrier far!
There's a colorful cast of personas who form a familiar meel-yoo,
Some o' them headed somewhere––but some others are there
Who, as things are unravelling, don't seem to care
Where they're traveling to.
She's an old lady whose wire-frame buggy is gangly and antediluvian
And carries so many eclectic affairs you uproot a few hairs and your eyes as you try to
surmise if she's shopping or moving!
Sitting up there in the front, with the sunglasses, beating the air with his hand,
Declaiming each stop in a singsongy way,
He's a seventy-something who back in the day
Was a driver and shies a one-liner at each little South City feature he can!
And he swings an invisible steering wheel,
And he weaves to a pivoting load,
Like a string puppet fitted by memory
To each fissure and bend in the road.
He is mad with a kind of authority, and,
When I playfully tease him for speeding on Grand,
I receive such a solemn response that I think I've accosted a throne,
With a flippancy leaving me soiled,
Like a peasant who came too near
The yellow line of royals
In the transportation sphere.
But stings don't hid in the bus's world
(And what does simmering vexed afford?)
So I signal my stifled pride with a rapid tug of the signal cord…
Shared vexations are merry things!
Merry they are,
Merry they are,
It's jolly to blunder, jolly to gripe,
And it makes you feel like the city type.
(Nothing so urban as looking ripe
For battle, wherever you are.)
But take a break––or take a bike!
(That's merrier far!)Discussion about this post
No posts